


Float On

by floodxland



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: AU: Mechanics Shop, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1361512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floodxland/pseuds/floodxland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: PG for this chapter, will go up later<br/>Warnings: Slash, RPS<br/>Pairing: Jeremy/Richard, implied James/Oz Clarke<br/>Alternative Universe: What if life had taken a different turn for the Top Gear chaps? Top Gear is a struggling Auto Repair/Mechanics shop.<br/>Summary: Jeremy is the manager and The Stig and James work as his mechanics. Needing a third hand he hires Richard and turns everything upside down, for both the shop and those working there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is my first TG fic, I haven’t written very much for a long time. Until recently I did a handful of things for the Vikings fandom (watch that show, it’s brilliant fyi) but this story came into my brain and I couldn't resist the idea of an AU where everyone hadn't had such a charmed life. Depending on my workload there will be a weekly update, I have no Beta and my brit-picking is the best I can do despite being from the Antipodes!
> 
> Title: Comes from the Modest Mouse song “Float On”

Jeremy Clarkson, it could be said was a product of circumstance over intent.

There were many things he had intended on achieving but circumstance intervenes, in his case the instances of his fist connecting with the faces of too many people that he shouldn't have angered to begin with. As he saw it even in hindsight each blow was deserved and practically begged for, when he was a young man he could get away with it to a point, he'd been thrown out of Public school for being a lout of breathtaking arrogance, as a young man he'd squandered the jobs he'd charmed his way into and now at middle aged circumstance had found him working at Top Gear Auto-mechanics Dunsfold.

One of the least mechanically sensitive men on earth he knew enough about running a business to keep it afloat but they were a pokey, small outfit too far from anything of note but close enough to keep solvent. Jeremy knew about cars, the walls of the office were plastered with glossy calendars of Ferrari, Lamborghini and Mercedes Benz supercars along with F1 and other motor sports. Cheesecake Models draped on exotic European hypercars pinned in the lavatory, not that he really looked at the women, at first his wife had been rather pleased about that until she found the stack of gay porn squirreled away in the glove box of his aging Mercedes saloon.

So divorced he was but out he was not - but his routine didn't much change - Friday Night at Spearmint Rhino simply relocated to Friday Night at The Sportsman's Male Review. Drinks were cheaper and the lads most accommodating and discreet. Outwardly looking for all intents and purposes like a shabby straight businessman with a gut and balding but always ready with fivers to any pretty lad ready to sit on his lap and indulge the old man. As long as his clients saw him as a man's man no one would guess it, he was too old and set in his ways to start waving rainbow flags and marching at rally’s. 

Top Gear Auto-mechanics sat next to an abandoned aerodrome; every now and then he'd sneak out onto the airfield and give his long-suffering Merc a thrashing. Too tall and heavy to ever have been even considered for racing didn't stop him enjoying a power slide and a tire destroying powerlap. He'd had more speeding tickets than he had hot dinners and had spent a little time in the lock up over the fact he couldn't pay for them, that and he'd spent two long months in the chokey for punching his boss at his last journalism job. Being a jail bird didn't suit him so he'd kept his nose clean (save for the occasional snort of cheap whizz and only during the holidays) and so he found himself managing TGA.

The weekend had ended - so he opened up shop, post choked with bills, cup of cheap shit coffee, the lights flickering on in his office he waited for his staff to come in. A Jeep Grand Cherokee sitting in one of the bays ready for pick up, a Vauxhall Astra looking more like a dying horse begging for a bolt to the brain than having to haul its rusting carapace around any longer. 

Currently he had a staff of two; there was a stack of resumes in the mail along with the bills as he looked for another mechanic. The Cherokee had probably been seen to by Stig, Jeremy didn't know who he was really, he had been hung over when he hired him - he came in at night or when he wasn't there and did his work. He was a mystery, even at the times he'd seen him around the shop Jeremy couldn't put his finger on the man, in the florescence lights he seemed pale and vaguely Northern European but in the sun he looked darker and almost East Asian, his voice was somewhat blocky and robotic, his accent hard to pin down. One time Jeremy heard him talking to someone in rapid Russian, another time in a slow, painfully soft Mandarin. Stig was paid in cash because Jeremy couldn't find any paper work or identification for him so it was easier that way.

Some say he was on the run from debt in the EU and that he was the one who ate only the biscuit part of the Kingston Creams and left the cream centers scraped back into the packet. All he knew was that he did his job, did it well and understood that don't ask, don't tell was sacrosanct at Top Gear Auto.

Jeremy flicked the bills aside and dug through the resumes and sipped his coffee, ignoring the taste, there was no sugar in the tea room. That wouldn't come until his other member of staff arrived, James May, qualified mechanic and the embodiment of 'Jack of all Trades; Master of None'. He was quite man, large blue eyes that rarely looked up to face you, gray hair kept short and combed at a side part so sever you'd think he styled it with a laser. He'd seen in his ID card when he hired him that it used to be quite long, almost to his shoulders but now he wore it shorn like a penance. Jeremy liked the man, he was competent if pedantic to an agonizing fault, the shop was always immaculate but if one thing was set out of place a terror and rage flared up in those rarely seen blue eyes. James was like one of those old flagellating penitents flogging himself raw for some sin so deep it made him a ghost of a man.

Curiously, after he'd hired him when TGA had first started after firing that idiot Dawes who'd been stealing from him (there was a punch he got away with since he slugged the fat bastard right in the gut before throwing him out, satisfyingly easy on his fist.), Jeremy had investigated his new staff member. Apparently he'd been in the army at a point; there had been an accident, nothing much more he could discern from the military save for it had been an honorable dismissal on paper. One night he'd found James at the shop sitting on the couch head in hands sobbing, broken glass of wine at his feet. James didn't drink so that was unusual, he heard through the sobs 'Oz... Oh Oz... I'm so sorry.' - Jeremy was a bastard but not cruel, he found a clean blanket they kept for when someone was too tired to leave and had to kip at the shop. Draping it over his shoulders he sat with him until he calmed down.

After that James was a little less like a ghost, he'd become a friend though his pedantic attention to detail and neurotic tendencies stayed. Jeremy needed a third mechanic though, someone with enough qualifications and experience. Someone who was better with customers than their elusive Stig and the downright antisocial May - he threw out the first two, too young, too little experience, third one - maybe pile, fourth one looked the most promising. He highlighted the name and number on the resume "Richard Hammond" just as James came in with the restock of supplies for the tea room and his usual muttered "Hullo".

"May, get up to anything this weekend?" He waved him over and grabbed the grocery bag he'd been holding to dig out the sugar for his now cold coffee.

"No. Did some reading."

"Party never stops for you does it, Slow?" he teased, the man had earned the nickname Slow the first time he had to be driven by him in his elderly Bentley. He'd gotten clattered at the Sportsman's and May was the only one his drunk brain had managed to dial and beg for a ride. James had given a long side long look as he slumped against the door of his passenger's side, face pressed against the glass. He didn't say anything, but the Sportsman's pink neon triangle was evidence enough of the man's proclivities, and he was not one to judge.

"You're a funny man Clarkson." He said dryly, signing in for the day and leaving to get on with his morning routine of opening the shop up, cleaning even if it was already clean and starting on the Suzuki Swift with the leaking everything.

Unhappily he too got to answering calls and sending off cheques to pay for utilities; among the bills were a stack of magazines they had subscriptions to. Autocar, Motor Weekly, 4x4, Man Hunt, Vintage Cycle - he made a face at the Vintage Cylce, they only got it because James was a motorcyclist. Man Hunt was your standard gay porn publication that he could cram quite neatly inside Auto Car and peruse till after lunch. He decided to call the two resumes in the Maybe pile, still flicking through his skin mag - apparently the first one had already been snapped up by Fifth Gear. He hung up angrily on him, Fifth Gear was their competition because it was a national chain and therefore evil.

The second call he didn't have high hopes for, until a slightly breathless Birmingham voice picked up just as he thought to hang up.

"Hello! Hi! Can you hear me? The speaker on my phone isn't so good. Hi!" The voice sounded young but on the phone James had sounded sane so he wasn't a good judge of these things.

"Richard Hammond? This is Jeremy Clarkson from Top Gear Auto-mechanics Dunsfold."

"Blimey! Yes this is Richard."

"Good, I had a look at your resume and I think you'd be right for TGA, can you come in for an interview this afternoon, round 3?" Jeremy put his Car/Porn sandwich down and re-read over Richard's resume. 2 Years at Birmingham Auto, 2 years at Bike Center Birmingham, Qualified Mechanic for both cars and motorbikes... his reading interrupted by a great whoop of excitement in his ear from the handset. Seemed that the man on the other end of the line was excited about it, he sat up, laughed a little, it seemed that his enthusiasm was infectious.

"I'll take that as a yes then?" He smiled.

"Yes! Sorry about that, but yes, defiantly!"

"Sorted then, you know where we are by the old airfield?"

"Yes I do."

"Excellent, see you in some hours then Hammond."

"Thank you Mr. Clarkson, I'll be there!"

After he'd hung up he felt lighter somehow, like this would be a good hire for his business, as a reward he went out to the stoop out back to chain smoke and indulged in some twitching, it was soothing watch the birds chatter and swoop over the cracked airfield tarmac.


	2. Chapter 2

The tinny sound of the phone had woken him up with a start. It was an older Nokia that had wriggled from his jeans pocket to his lower back and the vibration scared the shit out of him. Richard bolted upright, scrambling in a panic to remember where he was and what the hell was trying to drill into his spine.

By the time he found it he'd bashed his elbow hard enough to bring a tear to his eye - just in time he hit answer.

"Hello! Hi! Can you hear me? The speaker on my phone isn't so good. Hi!"

On the other end of the line was Mr. Clarkson from Top Gear Auto, the speaker crackled but he could hear him well enough to converse. It seemed that he had a job interview later that day and for Richard this was tremendous news.

When he'd confirmed where and what time he hung up he felt his heartbeat racing. He needed to stay sharp, get cleaned up and look presentable for this opportunity because he simply could not fuck this up.

The shower part was easy enough, he'd beg his ex Mindy for a wash at hers then head to Dunsfold - the fact that he would be turning up in the car he was currently living in would be harder to disguise. If one good thing had happened to him in the past couple of years was that he still had his most prized possession, his 1964 Porsche 356C Coupe.

It was a pretty ritzy affair for the temporarily homeless because well, it's a Porsche! However it wasn't exactly luxury city and the fact that it had been hidden in his parent's back garden under a tarp meant that it's been a touch neglected. It wasn't his fault though, he had no money, the tires needed to be replaced and the paintwork had suffered a little in spots. Mechanically and electronically though it was running smooth as a nut - when he could afford the petrol to make it run that is.

He'd picked it up about a month ago from his parents and drove it as far as what little money he had could take it. After selling his old Nikon camera he managed to get his resume re-printed and answered a handful of job applications. Richard was a bloody good little mechanic but his fighty nature landed him in trouble too often. While things had been going fine at the Birmingham shops he'd worked at he'd also fallen in with some small time thugs and by association had landed himself in an altercation with rival thugs. Police were called and before he knew it he had a 6 month gap in his resume he'd be struggling to explain.

It would have been longer but he'd gotten time off for his good behavior, before learning a 'real' trade he'd briefly gone to art school a while. With Richard's natural charm and suffering through giving head as bribes he'd gotten into the prison's social rehab program to teach painting to drug dealers in minimum security. He'd parked near his ex-girlfriend Mindy's house. She didn't want anything to do with him until he proved that he wasn't an idiot who'd punch anyone just because everyone else in the bar was swinging away. If he got this job and kept it she'd see that he could keep his nose clean.

Stepping out of his Porsche he stretched his legs and walked around it fondly stroking its lovely lines as he worked the stiffness out of his spine. After a lot of groveling he managed to get Mindy to let him use the shower and to shave, she'd offered to trim his hair even but he found he liked it long. Tying it back into a tight ponytail he nicked some of her toothpaste wondering if he could also negotiate a little lunch too. Richard’s stomach was churning painfully because he hadn't eaten more than a bag of crisps since yesterday's breakfast. In prison he didn't have to beg for things as much because his mouth had other things it could do to get him what he needed.

Someone had joked that sucking cock was a much better use of his mouth than talking shit because that just got him in trouble. That however was easier done in prison and licking the figurative boot so that Mindy would feed him tasted better than anything he sucked on the inside. So there was that. A quick sandwich later she was still mad at him as he left for Dunsfold. That anger would probably stay there until he could prove himself a good prospect.

Richard managed to shove what he could under a blanket and in the boot to hide he'd been kipping in his Porsche before he set off to Dunsfold. The smile on his face hadn't dropped since he heard the good news, the Porsche rumbled into life with just enough fuel, the gray clouds were parting and a new opportunity lay ahead. He would not and could not afford to cock this one up now.

The drive there was smooth if a little tense since the fuel gauge flicked ominously low from time to time but he made it with a few minutes to spare. Checking himself in the rear view, his long hair still neatly tied back, shaved smooth and confident he took a deep breath before stepping out to what he assumed was the front door.

Top Gear Auto had its main garage to one side and the reception and office close by, there was also a large aviation hanger they used to park cars and store parts. The whole area had the look about it of something rather rough that was cared for as if it was delicate and precious – figuring the office looking part was the best start he walked to the door.

Out the corner of his eye he caught something white that moved with preternatural speed, he twisted around to catch a look but it was gone. Even though he could not see it, Richard could not shake the feeling of being watched, scanned and examined as if by some ominous eye from above.

The sound of coughing distracted him, a rough smoker’s cough from behind the office door, steeling himself he puffed himself up – confidence is key after all and knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

As Richard entered – Stig watched from behind a stack of tires, white motorcyclists helmet hiding his face, he went into the garage where James leaning over a rusty Honda Jazz that needed a new battery. Meticulously cleaning any oxidation before he slotted the new battery into place James knew he was taking too long with this but he’d be done soon. Looking up as Stig entered. It was rare to see him this early but it was his payday after all and since he worked for cash he had to go to Jeremy for it.

“Did you see who Clarkson was interviewing today?” James asked the helmeted man who nodded slowly.

“Do you think he’ll be hired?” Wiping his hands as he finished connecting the battery at last, James studied the helmeted man, the way to read Stig was in the almost microscopic nuances of his gestures. Stig tilted his head slightly to the left, arms crossed over his body, legs slightly apart but not at rest and a poster of a Porsche 911 reflected against the surface of his helmet from across the way. James nodded; he peered out to the car park out front to see exactly what Stig had communicated. A slightly shabby 911, James went outside to admire it close up as one could tell a lot about a man from the state of his chariot.

There was an indication of a long period of sitting idle but otherwise treated carefully, the tires needed more air, the dashboard was clean if a bit dusty. Chuck Taylor's in a small size in the passenger side foot well, a car magazine 7 months old from the print date on the driver’s side seat looking as if had been sat on and crumpled repeatedly. Duffel bag crammed messily with clothing on the passenger’s side and on the window of the driver’s side was the impression of the side of a face. James got all he could glean from the car – he went back to the garage to finish his paper work and wait for Clarkson to give the man the grand tour.

Stig was now just a pair of legs under a Citron hatchback and James could hear Jeremy’s loud laugh float on over them and James went back to his work. He had a feeling the man living in the Red Porsche would be as good as hired.


	3. Chapter 3

Jeremy had regretted postponing his midday-ish wank in favor of smoking more when Mr. Richard Hammond came into his office. He was short, Jeremy was a freakishly tall man to begin with so most people were short to him but Richard was proper tiny next to him when he stood to shake his hand. Rough, workman’s hands but also smooth and a bit clammy, if those wide eyes widened still when he towered over the man.

“Richard Hammond – sit – now, business!” Jeremy shuffled the papers on his desk, looking at Richard’s resume and then back at him, looking for all parts the expectant school boy… Jeremy needed to stop that train of thought or he’d have to hide behind the desk for the rest of the day. 

“What are you driving right now mate?” Jeremy asked right off the bat.

“Ah my Porsche 911 Coupe!” Richard beamed proudly though he had noticed that of all the posters in the office of cars there were no Porsche pictures.

Jeremy rolled his eyes and groaned “Ah, so a Beetle then!” He teased

“Oi! Well…”

“Admit it, it’s a Nazi car!”

“Oh yeah and what are you driving then?”

“Uh…Mercedes…”

“Ha! They were well Nazis too!”

“Well alright – the Deuche make ein gut automobillcar!” He said in his comedy German accent. The man made him smile instantly, Jeremy hated the fact that he found himself massively attracted to a possibly straight man. Damn the charming little bastard and the Porsche he drove in on. 

“What we need is apart from someone who’s got the experience in both cars and bikes – we’ve got some incredibly skilled people on our time. Slow and Stig are excellent with all things mechanical and greasy. What we lack is someone who can actively talk to our customers and be the friendly face of TGA on top of being qualified to do the job at our current high standard.” At ‘high standards’ something fell with a loud clatter on the ground, from the sound of it, the Top Gear Auto-mechanic’s sign out the front made it’s twice daily decent to land. Ignoring their shabby signage, Jeremy sat back and looked at the young man over, he was very lean, rather floating in that rumpled button down and looking rather like a big eyed kitten.

“I know it sounds more like retail but there is an aspect of dealing with customers directly, which hasn’t been our strong set. Uh, I noticed that you haven’t been employed for over six months though – can you clarify?”

“Uh… ah yes well – ahnrm… it’s a bit hard to talk about.” In a panic he’d almost forgotten the cover story he’d cooked up to hide the gap in his resume.

“I was in an accident, a very bad one uh on my bike you see. Minor head injury, broke a leg, Had to recover and all that but I assure you I’m fit as a fiddle and ready to work!” Richard said in one big breathless lie praying it didn't sound too see through. Clarkson’s brow went up, looking him up and down to see if there was any evidence of it.

“I’ll probably need to get a medical clearance from your doctor but if you’re fine, I don’t want to do anymore paper work than necessary.” Jeremy gave him the benefit of the doubt for now, though he had a niggling little doubt right at the back of his head. 

“Now!” Jeremy slapped his hands on the desk as he stood up again, “I think we can take you on for a trial week, paid, to see how you fit in here and to gauge the quality of your work. How does that sound?”

“Really? Excellent! Thank you!” Richard stood up, this was the chance he needed so much, he shook Jeremy’s hand again with vigorous enthusiasm.

“Steady on, I need that arm for… things!” Jeremy laughed loudly, the younger man had a certain natural ‘joie de vive’ that was infectious, Jeremy hopped that it would rub off on the darling little weirdos he called his staff.

“Come on then, the tour and meeting the other two, they’ll report back to me on how you’re doing and monitor you and all that.” Jeremy led him out of the office to the hanger where the storage and cars ready to be taken back were parked out the way. The table of many things as well as the workshop proper, Stig was naturally nowhere to be scene and 

May was elbows deep in a brown Vauxhall.

“James May – The Slowest Man … in the world!”

“Clarkson” James turned around, rubbing his hands clean with a rag, looking over Richard quickly and then giving Jeremy a look that said ‘You’re hiring him because he’s attractive aren't you, you fathead.’.

“Where’s Stig?”

“In the hanger” James said deadpan

“We were just there!”

“You probably didn’t see him then.”

“Well obviously James. This is Richard by the way.”

Richard stuck his hand out and smiled at the stern older man; James stared at his hand, and then reluctantly shook it with a brief but firm hand.

“Ah Stiggy – where have you been?” Stig appeared in the workshop with his helmet still on and white Jacket. Richard realized that was the weird ghost he’d seen earlier, he felt a bit foolish now but even in plain sight Stig was oddly intimidating.

Stig didn’t reply, just pointed at the schedule on the wall of jobs he’d completed.

“Oh alright you can go, oh here.” Jeremy dug out an envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to Stig. Taking the envelope he nodded once and left, he walked with a fluid ease and a lightness that meant even his footsteps were virtually soundless.

“Some say, he’s a leading light in the Albanian Mafia… and that the Japanese worship him as some kind of god… all we know is he’s called the Stig. Honestly, that’s the most I’ve seen or communicated with the guy in weeks. This is why I need someone who’s actually human enough to small talk with customers instead of giving them ‘the fear’ or boring them to death.” The last part he said under his breath as he pointed to James who was ignoring them now as he sorted out the spanner drawer. 

“I’ll leave you with Slow for now who’ll show you around proper, but just as a warning, don’t mention ze war… any war – just avoid it – I think he saw some, as they say in American movies ‘Heavy Shit’ out there. But you can talk about Porsche… he’s a dirty Porschists.” There were posters of 911s and Boxters and all the Porsche royalty stuck up on the notice board of the workshop and with that Jeremy left him with a quick pat on the back. 

A few moments later he postponed Coffee #3 for sojourn in the men’s room, hand diving into his jeans quickly as Jeremy bit his lip, it was a bad idea to fantasize about your staff members. With their stupid Birmingham accents and their rubbish taste in cars and their cheeky, sexy…. “Fuck!” Jeremy came into his palm just as the Top Gear Auto sign fell for the second time that day.

Washing his hand and then his face and the back of his neck he slumped against the side of the wall wondering if this was how he was to keep living. In the closet, going to dingy clubs to drink too much and pay the occasional renter for a quick blow out the back? He’d have to get over it – see Richard as just an employee – how hard could it be?


	4. Chapter 4

Richard’s first week had gone down much better than anticipated.

The small trickle of customers they got was apparently due to the fact that their competition, Fifth Gear was simply not open as late as they were and were constantly swamped. Top Gear was a last resort for some and a small handful of car and bike bores went usually just for James since he was their resident bike expert. Richard watched the stoic man with something like awe, for someone who worked so painfully slow, he also worked some goddamned miracles with anything he touched. The only time he did lighten up was around Clarkson, usually to tease and snipe at each other in a weirdly friendly way.

Trying to get any details about the man though was like drawing blood from a stone, he kept a lot close to the chest, Richard could respect that and found him a good listener. Clarkson was in the office most of the time, on the phone with the bank, the electricity company, and the people who stocked their supplies. Every now and then his great booming voice would leak out his pokey office calling people all manner of things from ‘Incompetent Pissant’ to ‘Utter Swine who deserves to be murdered’. James would roll his eyes and take to inspecting his spanners again when Clarkson was on a tear.

He had talked with Clarkson a couple of times now, sorting out paper work and once to gleefully show him the latest offering from Jaguar in a magazine. Richard liked Jeremy Clarkson quite a lot, the taller man always made him feel at ease and accepted mutual teasing, when he laughed his whole, huge form shook gleefully. Jeremy always though, left rather abruptly, muttering about a forgotten phone call to a sniveling middleman who should be executed in front of his family or some such thing.  


Stig was another enigma, he seemed to mostly communicate with James, and even then it was a creepy mix of gestures, very low voices and staring hard at each other for what seemed decades. Richard had almost jumped out of his skin when one afternoon he rolled from under a car to see him staring down at him. Once he was out he shouted;

“What’s the big idea mate? You scared the hell out of me!” Richard held his hand to his drumming heart as he confronted the man who wore glossy aviator sunglasses at night.

“Petrol”

“Huh?” Richard looked around, wondering if he was referring to a leak somewhere, Stig presented a Jerry can to him – it took a moment to realize that he’d come to work on virtually an empty tank. Stig must have seen it and bought him some fuel from the garage’s supply.

“Oh… oh! Thank you. Stig, this is really too kind!” Richard was rather taken aback by it, “You didn’t need to, my first pay has just been banked, Clarkson told be at lunch… but this is really…” Before he could finish Stig had just walked away with his usual, preternaturally soundless grace. He had told James what had transpired, that earned a raised brow from the otherwise usually stoic man, he asked Clarkson who he saw as he was topping up his empty tank.

“Some say, his people believe that a gift of fuel means he won’t kill you and that he may just trust you enough to work with you. It took him almost a year till he gave me any!” Clarkson chuckled, leaned against the Porsche.

“Well, he is an odd duck isn’t he?”

“You can say that again.” Jeremy looked as if he was going to say something only to stop, mutter something about an early night, said goodbye and walked away. He felt a flutter in his stomach and felt a sense of warmth that he realized he didn’t feel with Mindy and it worried him, Jeremy was straight as far as he knew. Richard liked it both with men and women; he perhaps figured it was just him missing intimacy and a connection with another person. When he returned to Mindy that night, she still had him on the couch; they hadn’t slept together since before he landed himself in prison. During which she had become rather strict and obsessed with ‘living right’ – he cared for her as she seemed to in return but the spark had gone quite cold.

*******

Friday Night rolled in and Richard was washing his hands, it was knock off time and he ached for a pint and a fag. He couldn’t have any of that with Mindy, while he was currently in her good books and now living in the house with her, it didn’t mean living was easy if she could help it.

James had finally finished his tasks for the day and was methodically cleaning everything – for a man who worked in one of the muckiest professions on earth you would not know it. Apparently it was a ritual he went through none the less, much like propping the sign back into place – with a loud clatter he heard it fall down – again – as Clarkson arrived.

“Chaps! Off your snatches – pub time!” Clarkson sauntered in sounding pleased.

“Oh I don’t know if I can!” Richard winced, knowing that Mindy wanted him home soon.

“Nonsense, if you get clattered Slow will drive you back. James – please stop cleaning the smell of bleach gives me headaches you know that!” For such a brassy man Clarkson seemed to feign a rather delicate constitution.

“You’re a hypochondriac – if it wasn’t clean you’d be moaning about how diseased everything is.” James finally put the mop away.

“Stig is coming with, he’ll meet us there.” James said washed his hands with the vigorousness of a surgeon.

Jeremy had on a light blue chambray shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, tucked into some slightly darker blue denims, blue suede shoes – 16 stones of fashion faux pas but Richard thought he looked amazing. He felt himself blush at the thought, thinking to himself ‘Oh Brilliant Richard – the most obviously straight man on earth and here you are with a schoolboy crush. Lovely”

Richard had his hair out of its usual pony, sitting long on his shoulders. Mindy hated it and wanted him to get it cut but on that he stood firmly on, clean hands raked it back nervously as they stood waiting for James to officially shut up shop – they would take James’ lumbering but immaculately maintained Bentley, nice to arrive in style.

“The way James drives I’ll be a corpse, you’ll be an old man and Stig would have evolved into the next stage of humanity by the time we get there.” Jeremy grumbled and to that James flicked his ear hard. They had an odd rapport, James however almost smiled at Jeremy’s snarky remark and Richard laughed at their easy banter, hoping his new job might mean some new friends.


	5. Chapter 5

The pub of choice was not that far, The Hammerhead’ – a stout brick affair with a traditional swinging sign of a Hammerhead shark grinning toothily. The proprietor was a soft faced man with dark eyes and oddly lilting laugh that you’d think was faked but that was actually how he laughed. They all set down at a table made that had a glass top and under it was the remains of an old spitfire engine. Richard peered down into their table with boyish fascination, sticking his hand under the glass to have a poke but regretting it because someone had jammed gum in there.

“Urgh, that’s revolting!” Richard rubbed his hand into his jeans to try and clean the bad sensation off.

“Oh brilliant, my favorite customers!” The publican rolled his eyes as he dried his hands on a cloth as he approached them.

“Save it Carr, I’ll have my usual, so will James and a double order of chips this time. Seen Stiggy yet?” Jeremy asked.

“No but his cousin’s working out the back tonight so I don’t doubt he’ll be here soon. Who’s this then Clarkson, your new girlfriend?” the Publican jibbed at Richard’s long hair.

“Oh ha ha – this is Richard Hammond, new at the shop and we’re celebrating his first week. This is Jimmy Carr, The Prince of Darkness himself and owner of this dump. What’ll you have Hammond it’s on me?” Jeremy offered.

“Uh just a pint of lager’s fine.”

“Right, I oh and how about paying the tab owing – this is a business not a charity Clarkson. The tax collector’s on my arse as it is.”

“Jimmy you’re a fucking vampire you know that?” Jeremy sighed and slipped the man a hundred pounds muttering.

“Right, chips’ll be up soon, jukeboxes’ been repaired and keep May away from the darts and I won’t have to actually ban the bally lot of you.” The publican laughed his funny “ha ha haaa” laugh as he walked away to get their drinks.

“Wild nights before?” Richard asked wondering what type of madness these men involved themselves in after hours.

“Nngh,” Jeremy waved his hand dismissively “Jimmy is prone to exaggeration, only one dart landed in that guy and it was a prickle at best. Might I add if he didn’t want his jukebox vomited on he shouldn't have attempted to attract the ASBOs from the local collage here.” James nodded but glared at Jeremy

“I didn’t intend to throw that dart at the man!” James huffed in his defense

“No you’re rubbish aim was what jabbed him, granted.” Jeremy teased; James simply rolled his eyes as Jimmy came back with their drinks. Stig came in with dark black Ray Bans and a trendy white scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, looking rather slick and out of place next to his scruffy co-workers.

James’s usual seemed to be nothing but a cold glass of water, no ice, two of the same house lagers for himself and Clarkson and a Gin and Tonic served in a novelty cup (One with a green alien glow in the dark face) for Stig.

“Stiggy! Nice to see you among humanity!” Jeremy greeted their quiet associate who said nothing as he sat next to James.  
“Brilliant, all’s as it should be in the world lads and we’re doing quite well at the shop only after Richard’s first week. If you hadn't we’d probably had to murder you but here you are, not murdered and we’re turning a profit.” Jeremy smiled his crooked smile, Richard bit his lip and fidgeted with his hair wondering about his terrible taste in men. Jeremy was only a few years older than himself, dressed like it was still 1985 and was comically taller and broader than his own slight frame – he didn't know how this attraction to Jeremy happened but it was there now. Guiltily he thought of Mindy who’d probably box his ears for coming home so late and most likely pissed.

“Oh flattery will get you everywhere – I’m terribly thankful for the work.”

Jeremy waved down Jimmy again; another of the same and quickly round two became three, four and so on save for James soberly sipping his water. Stig went for seconds on his gin but floated away to play the most intense game of billiards by himself whilst the three men chatted about cars. James was initially quiet but he warmed up to Richard once they discovered their mutual love for teasing the hell out of Jeremy.

“How funny would it be to get you to drive in that old Mini Cooper that’s in the shop right now, like a clown car!”

“Or a Peel 50” James suggested to which Richard laughed so hard his face hurt a little afterwards.

“Shut up you two, or you’re fired!” Jeremy laughed no fire in his words, his eyes lingering on Richard, taking in the brightness in his smile and those big, ‘love me’ eyes. Richard was a lightweight and by pint 6 he was quite clattered, slumped against Jeremy’s shoulder, slurring and affectionate. James noticed that the tension had shifted somewhat from friendly teasing to something a little more, he gave Jeremy a stern look. They’d just taken on Richard and for a change the shop was doing well and he was not going to let Jeremy cock it up.

“Clarkson, can I have a word?” James is sober as a judge, and from the looks of it Stig had left leaving only three billiard balls arranged in a line down the center of the table, sticks parallel on both sides. Anyone else would not have noticed but James noticed, all the little things unsaid and shouted in languages too frail for human ears. The message was clear ‘Sort it out’ and sorting out a drunken, lovelorn heap of middle-aged latently homosexual Jeremy was not his idea of a good time but it had to be done.

Maneuvering a rather wobbly Jeremy to the men’s, whilst having a slash he brought it up;

“You fancy Hammond?”

“Maybe - doesn’t matter tho. I think he has a girl and despite his gay hair and even gayer car…”

“I’m not saying I don’t think he’s not curious… I’m running on a hunch here but I think the attraction is mutual, you’re both just too moronic to notice it.”

“Really? You think?” Jeremy lit up

“Yes and therefore I want to talk you out of whatever rubbish you’re thinking of this very second. Clarkson!” Jeremy had gone to the door and was peeking out at the bar where Richard was swaying his hips along to the song he’d chosen on the jukebox ‘Superstitious’.

“Huh? What?”

“I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“Do you even know me May?”

“Yes and that’s why I say what I say.”

“Save it Slowly… I’ve had this lecture before. Boring – you’re blocking my view. Sweet baby Jesus… properly gorgeous isn’t he?” Richard was drunkenly dancing along on the tiny square of lino Jimmy called a dance floor.

“I do not because I am not a repressed homosexual. I have to work with him and to a lesser extent you; do you even think how this will affect your business?”

“I know… I know… but… ”

“You barely know him. He’s your employee.”

“And you’re a twat, and you’re not my mother.” Jeremy glared at him standing up to his full height “Is this about the business or something else May?”

“You’re my friend Clarkson, despite the fact you are a catastrophic bell end - I like working with Richard, he’s helping us turn Top Gear around and I don’t want to squander our good fortunes. And as a mate… I don’t want to see you hurt or see Hammond hurt either.”

“Now who’s being the big Jessie hmmn?” Jeremy softened at that, Richard had been a massive force for the good at Top Gear, hell, James was opening up to him just now and Stig was the most social than he’s ever been.

“Come on, let’s go out there before people start gossiping about us.”

“EEYYAAAHHH! LADS. THEY HAVE THE WHO ON THIS THING. WHO HAS A QUID?” a shouty, ruddy faced Hammond bounded up to them as they returned.

“Last Call. Last Drinks in lads!” Jimmy rang the pub bell rang, Richard blearily looked at his watch and cursed

“Shit, Mindy’s going to string me up by my bollox – I didn’t realize it got this late so quickly… why is the floor moving?” Richard swayed a little; he’d gotten another drink in while Jeremy and James had been conference pissing.

“Mindy? Your girlfriend then?” Jeremy’s heart sank a little.

“Mmmnn she’s alright but she’s a bit mental. Do you have a girl?” Richard asked

“No, divorced though, I’ve had enough mental in my life.”

“Oh maate… that’s rough, Mindy wans me to marry her… I think. I dunno.”

“Alright Hammond, you’ve had enough, need me to drive you home?” James offered

“Awwww! But last drinks! I’m probably gonna be in the dog house with Minds already so in for a penny aye?” Richard bounced up to the bar for his last one for the night.

“And I need a lift too.” Jeremy added, sadly watching Richard pound his beer and struggle to climb up onto the too tall bar stool. Truthfully he had struggled with the bar stool when he arrive stone cold sober but now it was hilarious because he was picking a fight with the chair.

“BASTARD STOOL!” He tripped trying to kick it. Drunken brawls with inanimate furniture was the last straw for the publican though.

“Out! Out! The lot of you!” Jimmy shooed them out as they giggled like schoolboys into the crisp night. They piled into the Bentley – Jeremy and Richard in the back as James drove them home.


End file.
